Читать книгу Bride By Arrangement - Karen Kirst - Страница 12

Chapter Four

“This is our first night in our new home.” Jane exuded excitement. “May we explore the ranch tomorrow?”

Praying for wisdom, Grace removed Noah’s wool blanket from the bed and replaced it with a cheery quilt from her trunk. Pinwheels of yellow, purple and green spun against an ivory backdrop. The colors brightened the room.

“Perhaps. We’ll have to wait and see how your sister is feeling.”

“I’d like to see the chickens.” She traced a pinwheel with her finger, her blue eyes dancing with anticipation. Eyes very much like her father’s. “And the pigs. I wonder if Mr. Burgess has rabbits.”

A curious child, Jane had an affinity for learning. In the estate’s library, she’d spent hours scouring encyclopedias and nature tomes. The Kansas prairie must surely have captured her imagination.

Curling on her side, Jane tucked one hand beneath her cheek. “Where’s Mr. Burgess going to sleep, Momma?”

“I’m not sure yet.” She dimmed the lamp’s flame. Shadows flickered in the room’s corners. “We’ll figure something out.”

During his absence, curiosity had gotten the better of her, and she’d peeked into the loft. There wasn’t a bed, unfortunately. Only a desk and chair, and wall-mounted shelves with books and cabinets with closed doors. The cabin lacked a sofa, so that wasn’t an option.

“Are you ready to say your prayers?”

Yawning widely, Jane nodded. Grace began to kneel beside the bed before recalling this wasn’t her bedroom suite in Chicago and there wasn’t a plush rug to cushion her knees. The floor here was bare and in need of a good scrubbing. Perching on the mattress edge, she placed one hand on Jane and the other on Abigail.

“I’m going to pray for Abby.”

“That’s a wise idea.”

During her heartfelt prayer, Grace couldn’t take her gaze off her sick offspring. Abigail had rested fitfully throughout the evening. Even gotten sick once in a pail Grace had thought to bring into the bedroom. Thankfully, the sheriff hadn’t been around to see it. He acted as if he’d never seen a child before.

His discomfiture during dinner had been obvious. There could be no question he wanted them gone at the first possible opportunity. Noah Burgess was a hard-nosed, implacable man. He wasn’t going to change his mind. She’d had the fleeting idea to offer him money in exchange for his name and protection, but she’d dismissed it. He wasn’t dumb. No ordinary mail-order bride would do such a thing.

The last thing she needed was to arouse a sheriff’s suspicion. She’d tried explaining Frank’s dastardly behavior to her mother-in-law, only to be ridiculed and accused of trying to make trouble. Helen Longstreet hadn’t approved of Grace marrying her eldest son and had hinted that she’d married him to access his wealth and societal connections. Helen had refused to believe her younger son, Frank, would want her, too. Grace had been tolerated by her husband’s mother and targeted by his brother.

Jane ended her petition with a sleepy “Amen,” and Grace realized her thoughts had strayed during the entire thing. Familiar guilt pinched her. Not only was she duping the sheriff and anyone else she might come into contact with, she’d had no choice but to instruct her girls to go along with her story. Surely that made her the worst mother of all time.

I’m sorry, God.

Her divine Father had carried her through many dark days, His comfort her sole source of strength when everyone around her had proved an enemy. He’d been a friend when she’d been friendless. Disappointing Him in this manner wore at Grace’s soul.

Lord, if he’d agree to marry me, I could make things right. Once we’ve been married a little while, I can reveal the truth.

The outer door clicked, and the floorboards resounded with a heavy tread. Grace’s pulse tripped nervously.

Leaning down, she dropped a kiss on Jane’s cheek. “Sleep well, my love.”

Already drifting, Jane wriggled deeper beneath the quilt. Grace extinguished the lamp. Closing the door behind her, she remained where she was, watching as Noah removed items from a sack and lined them up on the wooden counter.

He flicked her a glance. “How’s the sick one?”

“Her name is Abigail.”

His mouth tightening, he continued his task.

“She’s about the same.”

Holding up a sachet, he filled a kettle with water and set it on the stove. “Elderberry tea will help with the fever.”

Surprised at his thoughtfulness, she advanced into the room, studying his efficient movements as he took kindling from a tin container in the corner and chucked it into the stove’s firebox. While waiting for the water to heat, he unpacked the remaining items and put them in their proper places. He set an enamel mug on the counter.

“You must be exhausted,” she said. “I can prepare the tea for Abigail.”

He gave her another considering glance that screamed dismissal. “You’re a guest in my home.”

In other words, it was his kitchen and she wasn’t welcome.

Grace tamped down her rising irritation. “I noticed we’ve taken over the only bed. And there’s no sofa.”

His arms folded across his broad chest, he kept his gaze trained on the kettle. “I’ll sleep in the barn.”

“With Wolf?”

He grunted.

“Where does he normally sleep?”

“By the fireplace.”

“So we’re not only displacing you, but your pet, as well.”

He pierced her with his cold blue gaze. “It’s temporary. I spoke to Will, and he’s committed to making your stay at the Cattleman a comfortable one. As soon as your daughter is well, I’ll check the train schedule for a return trip to Chicago.”

Grace bit the inside of her cheek. Arguing with him would get her nowhere. She had to use what little time she had to show him the many ways her presence would make his life easier. If she wanted to stay in Cowboy Creek, she had to make herself indispensable.

* * *

“Mighty thoughtful of you to bring me breakfast, Sheriff.”

Noah set his pail on Sheriff Davis’s desk—his desk now—and cocked a single brow in Deputy Buck Hanley’s direction. In his midtwenties, Hanley’s upbeat and sometimes flippant attitude initially had Noah questioning Davis’s decision to hire him. The more time he’d spent in his company, however, the more his positive traits became clear. Hanley was levelheaded and in possession of well-honed instincts vital for a lawman.

Noah balanced his battered Stetson on one of the chair’s upright slats and, adjusting his gun belt, sat and began to remove the pail’s items one by one. Wolf found a spot beside the desk to lounge in, his golden eyes assessing the lanky deputy.

While Hanley didn’t act afraid of Wolf, he didn’t approach him, either. His attempts to talk to the animal resulted in Wolf ignoring him.

Noah examined the row of cells to his left. Three cowboys were sprawled on cots, sleeping off the previous night’s excitement. A whiff of stale cigars and sweat assaulted his nose.

He tossed Wolf a sausage. “Busy night?”

Hanley nodded. “Yep. Broke up a fight on the south end of town shortly after midnight. These three weren’t keen on cooperating, so I offered them a place to sleep for the night.”

“Any property damage?”

“Nah.”

“Good work.”

Noah turned his attention to his breakfast, one he should’ve been enjoying at his own table, his grandfather’s Bible or a newspaper laid out in front of him. Instead, he was here, avoiding the widow and eager to be alone with his foul mood.

The younger man edged toward the door. “Well, I suppose I’ll go on home and rest up for tonight’s shift.”

He didn’t bother lifting his head. “You do that.”

The glass pane in the door rattled and Hanley’s footsteps faded. Sighing, Noah bit off half a boiled egg and offered the other half to Wolf. He surveyed the jail’s interior. He hadn’t spent much time here because his first days as sheriff had been spent chasing after the Murdochs. The interior boasted a high ceiling, rough-hewn walls decorated with maps, the American flag and wanted posters. Five cells lined the wall, facing the entrance door and windows flanking it, each with their own cot. The desk was made of oak and sported coffee-ring stains and a jagged gouge in the corner. He followed the gouge with his fingertip, wondering how it had gotten there, wondering how he had gotten here.

He should be tending his ranch and livestock. He’d never aspired to be a lawman. He’d experienced enough violence to last a lifetime. The war had altered him, not only his appearance, but his way of thinking. Mentally, he’d aged decades, his soul irreversibly tarnished by the atrocities he’d witnessed. He’d come to Kansas in search of a fresh start, away from the constant reminders of the state of their nation.

Abandoning his meal, he moved to the nearest window. The jail sat at the intersection of Eden and Second Street. At this early hour, the streets were mostly deserted. All was quiet in front of Will’s hotel, as well, the curtains at the windows drawn. A clerk swept the boardwalk in front of Booker & Son general store. Across the street, an elderly man was knocking on the doctor’s door.

Noah released a ragged breath. He was responsible for the residents of Cowboy Creek. The weight of that duty fully registered for the first time, and he almost lost his breakfast. His mind rebelled.

What had possessed him to accept the town leaders’ request? Had to have been a moment of insanity, that’s what.

An ungainly figure trundled around the corner, and Noah recognized the boot-maker’s wife, Opal Godwin. Her determined air gave him pause.

He met her at the door. “Mrs. Godwin. What can I do for you?”

She stood in the doorway, one hand supporting the huge mound of her belly, her squinty brown eyes darting between him, Wolf and the prisoners. “I have an issue to discuss with you, Sheriff Burgess. Do you have time now?”

Noah motioned to the bench pushed beneath the window he’d been stationed at a moment ago. “Let’s talk out here on the boardwalk.”

The sun’s rays slanted across their feet. The thick air indicated the day would be a muggy one. Opal carefully lowered herself onto the hard seat, trying unsuccessfully to find a comfortable position. The woman was due to have that baby any day. He prayed today was not that day.

“My husband and I, along with the other affected shop owners, want to know what you plan to do about our falsified deeds. Our livelihood is in jeopardy, Sheriff.” Her severe hairstyle highlighted the shadows beneath her eyes. According to Daniel’s wife, Leah, a midwife who had been consulting with Opal, the young woman had endured a challenging pregnancy. “If you don’t fix this, we might lose our business. And then how would we provide for this baby?” Her voice wobbled, and through the unshed tears, he glimpsed expectation.

She and Amos, her husband, were counting on him to save their business. They all were.

His gut twisted.

Noah paced from the corner post to just past the jail entrance and back. The guns resting against either hip were heavy and cumbersome. He wasn’t used to carrying firearms, especially with the no-gun policy imposed within the town limits. But as the sheriff, he was Cowboy Creek’s appointed guardian. He had to be prepared to protect the residents, especially with the Murdoch gang running amok. Those scoundrels had already proved they were without conscience, going so far as to interrupt a church service and robbing the parishioners of their money and jewelry. He well remembered Leah’s unhappiness over the loss of her wedding band.

On top of the chaos the brothers had wreaked, Noah had inherited a whole host of other sticky issues from his predecessor—the mystery of the falsified store deeds being one of them. Opal herself had discovered the forgery. Without an authentic deed, the bank wouldn’t extend loans for new purchases.

“I’m going to review Sheriff Davis’s notes on the matter, then I’m going to interview everyone involved again. See if I can dredge up new information.”

She didn’t appear impressed. “Would you be willing to meet with the shop owners to discuss your plans to rectify this situation?”

“Of course.” He adopted a confidence he didn’t feel. “Give me three days to complete the interviews. We’ll meet at the Cattleman on Friday.”

Opal was quiet a long moment. Then, with a jerky nod, she struggled to her feet, waving off his extended hand. “I’ll pass the word along. I pray you’ll have more success than Sheriff Davis did.”

Noah watched her leave. He had some serious praying to do himself.

He spent the morning examining the contents of Davis’s desk. His notes about the shop deeds were pathetically brief. Noah paid the land office a visit. While the gentleman working there was willing to assist in the investigation and gave Noah access to the office paperwork, he didn’t have any useful information. Frustrated, Noah returned to the jail to find three cranky cowboys demanding water, food and their freedom. He listened to them whine for an hour before their fellow drovers arrived to pay the fine for disrupting the peace. Once they were gone, he made a list of all the shop owners he needed to interview. He stayed busy, yet the widow remained on the edge of his thoughts. He’d prepared enough breakfast for her and her daughters. But what would they do for lunch? Images of his cabin burning to the ground taunted him. No way did he want a mollycoddled socialite tampering with his kitchen.

Ducking into the Cattleman, he sought out young Simon, Will’s hotel porter. Since Constance had already met Simon, she wouldn’t be alarmed to see him riding onto the property. He arranged for the boy to pick up lunch from the Cowboy Café and take it out to her, assuring the boy the errand wouldn’t get him in trouble with his boss. Will was responsible for Constance’s presence; he could spare his employee for a couple of hours.

By the time five o’clock came around and another deputy, Timothy Watson, showed up to relieve him, Noah was antsy to return to the ranch. As instructed, Simon had reported back to him, saying that Mrs. Miller had seemed surprised but pleased with the delivery. Simon hadn’t seen Abigail, which meant she must still be confined to bed. He’d let slip something that had Noah worried. He’d said that when he arrived, Constance had been busy cleaning the cabin. The furniture, what little he had, had been pushed against the wall and buckets of soapy water stationed about the living room.

He didn’t want her cleaning, didn’t want her touching his belongings.

What would a woman like her know about caring for a home, anyway? From the looks of things, Constance Miller and her girls had lived a life of extreme ease. No doubt she’d paid people to cook and clean for them.

Saddling up, he pushed Samson faster than usual. Halfway between town and his spread, a small herd of buffalo watched him ride past, shifting nervously at the sight of Wolf loping after him. Wild turkeys scattered when he thundered onto the worn-thin trail leading to his cabin. He slowed when he caught sight of his vegetable garden. The short rows had been weeded in his absence.

Dismounting, he mumbled a prayer for fortitude and let himself inside. Noah’s abrupt entrance startled the two occupants. The bowl in Constance’s hands tipped precariously. Jane’s initial surprise transformed into a welcoming smile. Bounding over to him, she took hold of his hand as if they were longtime friends.

“Sheriff, look what I picked for you.”

Scrambling to make sense of several things at once, he allowed himself to be tugged over to the table, where the girl was chatting and waving her hand at the mason jar filled with a combination of orange, blue and yellow wildflowers.

“Aren’t they pretty?” she finally asked, big blue eyes blinking up at him.

“Huh.”

The floors were still damp from their scrubbing. Not a speck of dust littered the mantel. The windows sparkled, the clean glass admitting more light and allowing a clear view of the cottonwoods and the stream.

He registered the smell of grease and chicken the same moment he spotted a bucket of feathers in the kitchen corner. Leaving the girl, he prowled over to where Constance stood at the stove, her skin dewy with exertion and tendrils of chocolate-hued hair skimming her cheeks. Chin lifted, she stiffened with apprehension.

Noah plucked a feather that had gotten caught in the lace of her dress. “What did you do to my chickens?”